A Routine of Sorts
by StarForWishing
Summary: Set in the distant future after S3. Claire and Sylar's lives have become what Claire refers to as a quest to kill a monster, while Sylar sees it as more of a game. Slight Sylaire.
1. Chapter 1

**OK, this is my first story on fanfiction in a LONG time, it was originally going to be a oneshot, but ended up A LOT longer then I expected, so it became a short story. Please R&R :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own heroes D:**

**

* * *

  
**

Idiot.

Did he really think that that she'd be fooled by the pathetic trail he'd left in his apartment? A train ticket. Like he'd really use a train. Like he'd _forget_ the ticket. She knew him too well, a fact that at one point, would have made her gag, shudder, vomit. But now, she knew it was an asset. Her knowledge of him made it all the more easy to kill him. Not to mention the fact that there were no trains anymore, so he couldn't have taken one anyway. Never mind that little fact right now, she was musing on the way she would kill him tonight.

Or try at least. Sylar's ability to move the spot that could kill him made Claire's job a lot harder. Before she had known about the moving spot her plan had been simple, shoot him from a distance, then when he fell, shove a spike or whatever was available into the back of his head before he could heal and spit out the bullet. The only disadvantage with that plan had been her ability to aim a gun, which didn't exist. Or, it hadn't existed, sixty-odd years ago.

Fingering the gun holster attached to the belt of her jeans, Claire allowed a small smirk to spread across her face. She'd become quite the expert gunman in the past few years, she'd probably be able to beat her father. Adoptive one. Noah. No. Claire stopped that train of thoughts. She knew she couldn't think about him, especially not in the middle of a hunt. It would cause... emotional interference. Or something like that.

Claire's shoes made an odd combination of squishy and scraping noises as she crept through the alleyway. The squishy sounds were made from the water, she hadn't been paying attention when she walked out her door this morning, she'd been focusing on the plan forming in her mind, and she hadn't noticed the puddle in front of her. She was still trying to come up with a better excuse as to why they were wet for if Sylar asked. Not that she was going to give him a chance to ask; it was just an 'in case' plan. The scraping came from the old soles of her shoes sliding across the rough ground of the alley. It would have been hard to walk through the alley without making some sort of scraping sound, but Claire was pretty sure that the wetness of her shoes made it all the louder. So much for sneaking quietly.

Not that it mattered; Sylar would hear her coming from a mile away anyway. Stupid sonic hearing.

She was nearing the end of the alley, it was slowly becoming possible to read the many obnoxious billboards and signs that decorated the New York street. Not that she was paying attention to any of those, nor to the cars speeding in either direction. She was instead staring intently at a Chinese restaurant directly across the street. That's where he'd be.

Claire liked to think that the tables had turned. Now she was the hunter, and he was the prey.

Of course, her hunting was a bit more difficult. When he had hunted her, she'd been young. Innocent. Stuck around in the same place for quite some time. He on the other hand, well, Claire had to chase him through the streets of New York, day after day after day. She knew each street like the back of her own hand by now, knew where there was traffic, where there would likely be an accident, where the best hiding places were. The only problem was, Sylar knew the city just as well.

So Claire hadn't had a hard time finding the restaurant, the one Sylar had called just last night (Claire had a friend. He could tap Sylar's phone from his bedroom, he could tell her who he called. She was pretty sure he wouldn't do it if he wasn't certain she couldn't kill him, though she didn't understand why Micah _still_ after all these years felt he owed Sylar. She also didn't like that he doubted her ability to kill) to ask about the menu (once Micah told her who Sylar called, Claire called the restaurant herself), asking whether they had Kung Pao Beef on the menu. Her favourite dish. Curse him for knowing that.

They did, it turned out, and that was all Claire needed to push her in the direction of the restaurant. It wouldn't be a coincidence; Sylar always left two trails for her. One that was hidden and one that was in the open, like the train ticket had been. The second trail was harder, but not impossible to find. Claire was in stubborn denial that it was her superb hunting skills that allowed her to find the trail, and not, as Sylar often vocalized, him playing along to her 'silly little hobby'. It was not a hobby. Claire would sooner admit to an obsession then a hobby. Hobby implied she enjoyed it, she did not enjoy the amount of time she had had to spend stalking the ex killer, learning everything about him, chasing him, and conversing with him. Stupid Sylar didn't know how to die silently.

Stepping out into the sun, Claire wished Sylar would pick somewhere less public. The general population of the world were far from adjusted to the idea of super powered humans walking the streets. The secret had come out a few decades ago, shortly before Angela Petrelli's death. Despite the knowledge of the powers, most people were unnerved seeing powers preformed in public, and Claire doubted anyone would be pleased if they saw her shoot Sylar's left leg (it was her latest guess as to where he'd hidden the spot) in the middle of a crowded street. No, she'd have to at very least drag him out the back of the restaurant.

Claire frowned as she stepped into the street, not bothering to look both ways or to even glance for oncoming traffic, they couldn't hurt her, she could be reckless; even if she shot Sylar in the back alley the sound of the gunshot would easily be heard in the restaurant, on the street.

No, the alley would not be a good place to shoot. Then where...?

Claire stepped onto the curb on the other side of the street, unscathed. Many angry drivers sent rude words and gestures her way, but she ignored them, plotting silently. She'd just have to lure him out of the restaurant... and, down the street. There was... an abandoned lot, a few blocks over, if she were lucky, then maybe she'd get him down there. Only to avoid a scene, she was willing to kill him anywhere really.

The door to the restaurant opened with a small chime of bells. Claire didn't need to look up to know that there were bells positioned above the door, so that the restaurant workers would know when someone entered. The restaurant was warm, not that it had been cold outside, maybe slightly cool from the rain last night, but this restaurant made the temperature outside seem cooler.

The restaurant seemed to be nothing more than one wide room, with table on either side of an aisle that led directly from the door to the back wall of the restaurant, where a bathroom sign hung. The room was painted a warm orange colour, and there were paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The atmosphere was warm, calming, it was almost making Claire sleepy. Almost. There were only a few people sitting, not much chatter, so the restaurant was rather quiet. That made sense, as it was about 1 in the afternoon, so the lunch rush would be over.

"Table for one?" A cheerful voice asked her, and Claire turned to see a young Chinese girl, probably about sixteen, holding a menu and smiling at her in anticipation. Of course, after years of being around humans, learning to spot lies, Claire could easily see the smile was forced, that there was no real happiness behind it, and the girl was just doing her job. Not that that surprised her.

"Actually," Claire began in a pleasant tone, "I'm looking for a friend of mine." The waitress seemed slightly surprised by this, but she nodded, and Claire continued before she could say anything, "Tall, dark," She didn't say handsome. That wasn't... the right word to describe Sylar. Maybe it could describe Gabriel Gray, at one point, but not the stone cold killer that Claire knew. Even if he claimed not to have killed anyone in over a year. Like that mattered.

"Are you Claire?" The girl asked, unexpectedly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thankyou so much to everyone who reviewed! I hope you all like this chapter too ;D**

* * *

Claire's eyes went wide with shock, but she forced them to become normal again. "I- yes?"

The girl smiled, "He said you wouldn't be here till 3, you're early." She turned around, and walked through the restaurant, presumably towards the kitchens.

"Where are you going?!" Claire cried, running forward, stepping in front of the girl to cut her off. What did she mean, Sylar (who else would _he_ be?) had said she'd show up? AT 3!? Two hours from now!? He did not underestimate her that much. He was just trying to mess with her mind.

The girl smiled (her smile was getting a tad bit annoying) and replied simply, "I'm getting your note."

"My what?"

"He left you a note." With that, the girl stepped through a door that clearly stated _Employees only_, but Claire followed anyway. Sylar left her a note. She was confused, but there was one thought that kept tormenting her mind; _this was new._

The room was as Claire had guessed, a kitchen. Unlike the warm colours that decorated the restaurant, the kitchen was filled with stainless steel equipment; everything looked new, clean, and efficient. There were very few employees in the room, probably due to the small amount of customers outside, and the technology could do so much of the work without human help it was almost redundant to have anyone here besides a head chef and a few waitresses. Technology of the future. Claire was just waiting for the time robots would come out, it was taking surprisingly longer then she had expected.

The waitress walked through the kitchen without a second glance, towards the stove. There was a shelf above the large stove (it was nearly double the size that Claire would have had in her apartment) filled with bottles and such. The waitress reached up and took a small piece of paper from under a bottle of spice. This was... there was really no word better for it then odd.

"Here you go." The waitress chirped, handing Claire the piece of paper, which she took. Turning, Claire made her way back through the door of the kitchen, and made a beeline for the door out of the restaurant. "Wait!" She heard the girl call from behind her, but Claire ignored her. "Don't you want any-"

Stepping outside, Claire closed the door in the middle of the other girl's sentence. She had more important things to do then talk with a waitress or eat Chinese food. She had to find Sylar, who seemed to have left her another clue?

The familiar scrawl on the note was undoubtedly Sylar's. Claire hadn't looked at it until she stepped out of the restaurant and leaned on the wall outside.

_Claire-bear,_

_Unfortunately I will be unable to make our date this afternoon, as I have to catch my train back to Montreal. I won't be back in New York for a few years, but be assured, when I return I will look you up._

_Your most precious_

_Sylar_

There were many things about the note that made Claire twitch. Stupid, arrogant, pompous, JERK. Claire was well aware that there was little she could do to stop him calling her Claire-bear, but the mention of a date? His claim of being most precious? Oh she was going to get a thrill when she shot him today.

Apparently, the easy to find clue, was the real clue today. What was with the changes today? Well, it might be best for Claire not to question the inner workings of a deranged killer (_ex_ killer), it probably wasn't good for her. Not that it really mattered _why_ Sylar did the things he did, it just mattered that she stopped him. Soon.

Of course, Sylar had to send her on a trail that took her to the WRONG side of the city. It would be at least an hour long walk to get to the train station, unless she could get a cab.

xXx

Claire did manage to get a cab, and she arrived at the train station in good time. Paying her fair, Claire looked around. Trains had gone out of style about 40 years back, boats, cars, planes and trucks took their place, and all of the metal making railroads had been torn out of the ground and reused. It had been quite a production. So now, the station was deserted.

Almost deserted, Claire corrected herself. She could see Sylar. He stood, his back to her, amid rubble, broken glass, and rusted metal. There must have been a fight here at some point, as the train station would not be in such a messy state from simply being abandoned. Claire didn't have time to wonder about who had fought here, she had to shoot Sylar.

Morals told her not to shoot while his back was turned, while logic screamed he already knew she was there, he would have heard her footsteps. He might even have heard the air rush around her gun as she raised it, she wasn't positive how sensitive that stupid hearing was. He definitely would have heard the safety on her gun click off, and yet, she couldn't pull the trigger.

"Sylar." Claire's voice echoed through the station, and the man turned. They stood barely twenty feet apart, and for some reason Claire was reminded of a cheesy old western film.

"Claire." Sylar's mouth was twisted into a smirk, "You're early."

Idiot. She wasn't early. If anything, she was late. Stupid idiot for underestimating her! Glaring, Claire pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot exploded in her ears, the bullet moved through the air so quickly, she couldn't see it. But she did see it hit Sylar's leg. She did see him flinch forward slightly, and then the blood came. It gushed out of his leg for a mere second, than stopped. Claire watched as Sylar flicked his finger and the bullet shot telepathically out of his leg.

"Not there." He informed her, smugly redundant. Then he started walking towards her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for everyone who has reviewed, favourited, alerted and read this story! Yep, this is the last chapter of my very first story! I hope you like it, I've never been great at ending stories. Anyway, if you do like it, I'll be writing more soon, so please keep an eye out for me! :D **

**

* * *

  
**

Claire took a quick step backwards, and pulled the trigger again, now aiming for his stomach. This time Sylar was so close that when he flicked the bullet out of his skin Claire could _see _him heal. How had he gotten to her so fast? Sure, twenty feet wasn't far but... It felt like it had only been seconds before he was standing in front of her, towering over her (curse her shortness), and grabbing the gun out of her hand.

"Not there either." He informed her, leaning down so that his face was painfully close to Claire's.

...Wait! Grabbing the gun out of her hand!? Claire blinked in shock, thaen cried, "Hey!" Sylar merely smirked and stepped past her, walking out of the train station. "That is my gun!" She yelled indignantly, then raced after him. He was moving much too fast, this really wasn't fair. It took Claire longer then she would like to admit to catch up to Sylar, and fall into step with him. "Give it back. Now." The last word came out as a growl, which she had hoped to be intimidating, but Sylar just laughed.

"If I give it back you'll just shoot me again. And again, until you run out of bullets. By then I'll be covered in blood and we'll be getting even more weird looks then we already are." They weren't getting weird looks, Claire felt compelled to point out, there was no one around, they weren't really in the city yet. Just on the outskirts. But she kept her mouth shut on that matter, she had more important things to retort to.

"I'll keep shooting until I kill you," She snapped, and was about to continue, saying something about how he'd die long before her bullets ran out, when he interrupted her. Jerk.

"Claire, there are only three bullets left in this gun," Oh, did she forget to refill it this morning? Wait, how did he even know there were three? "And you've been saying the same thing for decades, what makes you think today's your lucky day?" He was much too smug.

"It just is." Claire replied stubbornly, then held her hand out across his chest in an attempt to stop him from walking any further. "Now give me back my gun! Its mine and you are stealing."

"Claire." Why does he have to say her name so much? "As you have pointed out _many_ times before, I have killed hundreds." He said it as simply as if he were commenting on the weather and it infuriated Claire. Why couldn't she get him angry? He never seemed to lose his temper around her, while she _always_ did. It just wasn't fair. "Do you really think petty theft is going to bother me?" With that he pushed her arm out of the way and continued down the street.

"But its mine!" Not that that would, or should, make any difference. Claire wasn't any different from any of Sylar's other victims, other than the fact that she was alive, and had conversations with him on a regular basis. She didn't expect him to give it back, but it felt important that she pointed it out.

Sylar just smirked, not responding other than quickening his pace. Claire is quite aware of where he's heading, if he were anyone other than Sylar (or herself) Claire may have been forced to take him to an intervention or an alcoholics anonyms meeting. Yes, he was heading to a bar. He _always_ went to a bar, every day after her attempts to kill him. And Claire always went with him. Not by choice, normally he had stolen the object she'd attempted to kill him with. That or she just felt like she needed a drink. Not that alcohol did anything to her; the need for a drink was just basic instinct. Getting drunk NEVER worked.

"Give me my gun now or I will teach you what real pain feels like." Claire snarled, jogging slightly to catch up with the man (okay, this wasn't even funny. He was walking way too fast) and glaring at him.

"Come on Claire-bear, you know you couldn't do that to me." Sylar sent a sly smile her way, implying something that Claire didn't even want to _acknowledge._ He was such an idiot.

"So help me g-"

"Oh look! We're here!" Sylar interrupted Claire cheerfully. Cheerful Sylar was something Claire had never thought she'd see, and it still unnerved her slightly. They were indeed at a bar, there were so many in New York yet Claire had been to them all. Thanks to Sylar. She still maintained that if either of them could get drunk, he would be the one with the problem, and not her. This one had an endless supply of tequila shots, which put it up in Claire's top ten. Of course, Sylar had probably only picked this bar because it was the closest to the train station.

Stepping forward, Sylar opened the door and held it, gesturing at Claire to go through, "Ladies first." He was so good at pretending to be a gentleman. Claire of course knew it was all an act, and she shot him a glare as she stepped past him into the bar. Luckily there were two empty barstools right next to each other. Not that Claire wanted to sit next to Sylar, it was just easiest to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't kill an innocent person, that way.

"Two rounds of tequila, keep them coming." Sylar ordered as he took a seat, the bartender gave Claire an odd look, probably trying to guess her age, but shrugged without saying anything and went off to get their drinks. Another good thing about this bar, they weren't very serious about underage drinking. Claire normally had a few fake ids handy, just in case, but the majority of the time no one seemed to care enough to check.

When her shot was place in front of her Claire drank it in one large gulp, ignored the bartender's confused look, and turned to glare at Sylar. "Next time I'm not even going to bother with a gun," She informed him angrily.

"Oh really." Sylar replied, giving her a bemused look before taking a drink of his own shot.

"Nope. I'm going to use a spoon." She told him simply, ignoring the look of utter amusement that shone on his face. He could at least hide that, if he was going to let her shoot her every day, he should play his part in the bar too. Pretend to be scared or something. It was only fair. "I'll gouge your eyes out with a spoon, see if you can heal from _that._" Claire smirked and gulped her next glass.

Sylar burst out laughing at that, he just couldn't hold it in. He sucked. A lot. Claire _hated_ him. He kept telling her that her attempts to kill him were just a desperate way for her to get closer to him. Then he'd say something about how she didn't need a gun to be around him. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Claire would never stop hating Sylar. ...Never. Probably.


End file.
